Chapter 53 #2
“Breathe,” Rell whispered, his fingers working quickly at the straps. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
The leather restraints slid across her wrists and ankles. Her chest tightened, lungs seizing as the panic threatened to overtake her. But Rell’s eyes caught hers, holding her gaze steady as he secured each strap.
“Look,” he murmured, tugging gently at one of the restraints. There was just enough slack that her hand could slip free with effort. “You’re not trapped. Remember that.”
The door handle turned. Elora forced her expression into one of defeated terror—not difficult given the circumstances—as Thorn reentered with Florence trailing behind.
Thorn’s face broke into a slow, satisfied smile as his gaze fell upon Elora strapped to the examination table.
He approached with the deliberate pace of a collector examining a prized specimen, each footfall landing precisely where he intended it.
His shadow fell across her face first, then stretched over her body like a claiming hand as he positioned himself at the edge of the table, close enough that she could smell the antiseptic soap on his skin.
“You’ve returned to me at the perfect time.” he murmured, his voice carrying that familiar academic detachment that had always terrified her more than shouting. “And I must say, I’m not upset about your... completion of my experiment. Quite the opposite.”
Elora’s mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”
“The Al’teran integration is flawless. Better than I could have achieved in my lab.” His eyes gleamed with anticipation. “My accessibility to a shifter can allow me to run new experiments. Like testing whether Al’teran magic passes through bloodlines.”
The room’s edges blurred to black, Thorn’s face becoming the only point of terrible clarity as his words burrowed into her consciousness.
Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged, just a strangled intake of breath that didn’t reach her lungs.
Her wrists jerked against the restraints, a reflex beyond her control, the leather cutting into her skin as her body instinctively tried to curl inward to protect what he now viewed as nothing more than an incubator for his experiments.
She couldn’t help herself—her eyes sought out Rell. The veins in his forearms pushed against skin as if trying to escape, teeth grinding audibly as he calculated the exact amount of time needed to tear out Thorn’s throat.
“I’ll need to run some tests first,” Thorn said, scanning a notebook on the table.
Florence made a small sound to clear her throat, folding her sleeve cuff exactly once, aligning the edge with her wrist bone. “What timeline are you considering for implementation?” The question hung in the air, calibrated to sound like scientific curiosity rather than concern.
“Immediately. No sense in delay when we have such perfect material.”
Florence tilted her head, her eyes turning softer. It looked entirely unnatural for her. “Oh, I was hoping we could spend some time together. It’s been so long, Uncle. Surely, this can wait a little while.”
Thorn’s hand settled on Florence’s shoulder with a gentleness Elora had never witnessed from him before.
His fingers curved around her collarbone with the familiarity of old habit, nothing like the calculated touch he used to unsettle his prisoners.
“This is how I’ve always cherished our moments together, Flora. ”
“I always have admired your ambitions, Uncle.” She gestured toward Elora. “How is the process carried out? Artificial insemination, I presume?”
Elora shut her eyes and focused on breathing, on staying grounded as panic clawed at her throat. Florence is helping. Florence is delaying. The words became a mantra. She wasn’t actually his prisoner. This was just as much her idea as it was Florence’s.
I’m not helpless.
I’m not trapped.
This was her choice. She could endure.
Thorn shook his head. “Artificial insemination would be a waste of equipment and potions. The natural process is perfectly sustainable during this testing phase.”
Opening her eyes, Elora summoned a fierce glare. “Touch me, and I swear I’ll bite the face off any man who tries,” she spat, her voice steady despite the tremor of fear beneath. “Just like I did to Gerard.”
The pulse at her wrists throbbed against the leather restraints, each beat a silent countdown. She flexed her fingers experimentally, testing the give in the straps while her nails carved half-moons into her palms.
“Might I suggest waiting until she’s properly tamed?
” Florence suggested. “You wouldn’t want to risk putting anyone in danger.
” She stepped closer to the table, examining Elora with detached interest. “Besides, shouldn’t you choose the sire deliberately?
Their genes will matter just as much as hers for your experiments. ”
She’s protecting me.
She’s delaying him.
She isn’t working with him.
The performance was too convincing, too perfect in its cold calculation.
Thorn turned to Florence, a slow smile spreading across his face.
His eyes shone with pride as he regarded his niece.
“You haven’t forgotten everything I taught you,” he said, reaching out to pat her shoulder with paternal affection.
“Before your... regrettable defection, you showed such potential.”
Florence inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Some lessons remain valuable, regardless of circumstance.”
Elora watched the exchange through half-lidded eyes, fighting to keep her breathing even.
Their easy rapport chilled her to the marrow.
How much of this performance was real, and how much was pretense?
The doubt crept in like poison, and Elora forced it back down.
Trust was the only currency they had now.
Thorn’s shoulders sagged slightly as he glanced toward the door where two guards maintained their rigid posture.
“I face a dilemma, Flora. The available candidates possess... insufficient qualities.” He tapped his finger against the metal table, the soft rhythm punctuating his thoughts.
“These men can follow orders, yes, but their intellectual capacity...” He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Introducing such genetic limitations would compromise decades of research.”
He turned back to Elora, clinical assessment hardening his features. “The logical conclusion is that my own genetic material presents the optimal choice. A controlled variable, with verified intelligence and capability.”
Acid scorched the back of Elora’s throat as she registered what exactly he meant.
“No!” The syllable erupted from somewhere deeper than thought. Her instincts took over before she could think, wrenching against the loose restraint until her hand broke free. She scrambled upright on the cold metal table, every muscle straining to increase the space between them.
Thorn watched her reaction with chilling attentiveness, as though her horror itself confirmed a hypothesis.
He let her struggle for a few seconds then his hand shot out and struck her shoulder, driving her backward onto the metal table.
The collision sent a shock through her spine, leaving her gasping in the sudden vacuum of her own chest.
“Secure her properly this time,” he snapped at Rell, who had stepped forward at her movement. “I won’t have my specimen damaging herself.”
Rell stepped forward and guided her arm back into the restraint, buckling it with one hand while the other folded over hers, his thumb pressing a slow, firm circle into the center of her palm.
His eyes met hers briefly—a flash of concern, of barely contained rage, of promises he couldn’t speak aloud.
Then his fingers moved to the base of her throat, where her collarbone met her neck, and applied a steady, deliberate pressure there too.
“Pressure points,” he said, loudly enough for Thorn. “Breathe.” It wasn’t real. She knew it wasn’t real. But her heartbeat slowed anyway.
“Tighter,” Thorn instructed, watching Rell’s movements with hawkish intensity.
Rell adjusted the strap, maintaining that slight, nearly imperceptible slack that only Elora could feel. His fingertips lingered against her pulse point for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Before she could draw any more comfort from that touch, cold fingers gripped her chin. Thorn tilted her face toward him, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. The clinical detachment she found there was somehow worse than desire would have been.
“Calm yourself,” he said, his voice soft with false kindness. “I won’t be sullying myself with primitive breeding methods.” The pad of his thumb dug deeper into the hinge of her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. “But I must say, your visceral response... quite fascinating.”
Elora fought the urge to bite his hand, or spit in his face. “Were you expecting a different reaction?” she said through her teeth. The restraints bit into her wrists as she strained against them.
Thorn released her chin to address Florence, “Perhaps, your suggestion has merit. Artificial insemination would allow for greater control of the process.” He stepped back, contemplative.
Florence clasped her hands behind her back, nodding slowly.
“A sensible approach, and a brilliant idea. There is no better DNA to use than your own.” Her voice remained perfectly modulated, professional.
“If I may, the subject appears physically compromised from the transport. Perhaps a period of recovery would ensure optimal results.”
Thorn considered this, his gaze drifting over Elora’s restrained form with the detached interest of someone appraising livestock.
“That is not necessary.” Thorn finally said. “However, it is late, and I imagine your journey was long, Flora. We will begin running tests tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.